Wednesday, June 7, 2017
TMC103BL in size 15.
Chartreuse Uni thread because I had it in the bobbin holder this morning.
Waxed pheasant hen tails (trout cannot count!).
Red wire - medium - for the abdomen.
Possum (Wapsi Awesome Possum in this case) for the thorax. Loose dubbed and picked a little.
Speckled Hen soft hackle. One and a half turns only.
Nice pronounced Chartreuse head.
I wrote of last weekend's outing that I was inadequately targeting fish on the bottom of the streambed. This fly will be my dropper on a dry-dropper rig. The wire will do for me what I need in the gentle flow I will fish Saturday night.
I'll probably use a medium Michigan caddis of a CDC DHC variety or a Jingler tied with a wrapped bit of foam in the underbody for flotation if I get around to finishing the flies.
I'm going to get my dozen of these Red Ass whipped up first.
I'm after nice browns this weekend and there is no reason the last six hours of light on Saturday will not yield some lovely fish. I'll be on the water until true dark.
Leaning towards smoked polish sausage on a grill gate beside the campfire.
Breakfast on Sunday morning?
Cat head biscuits and spicy sausage gravy. Strong coffee and lots of it.
You'll be sorry to have missed it.
I'm missing a dinner Saturday with some of my favorite trout fishermen; but, there are only so many weekends in June and come November, I'll be wishing I was out on every one of them.
I have to go. The river knows my name and its whisper calls to me more than a lover's coo.
Monday, June 5, 2017
I wanted to say a few words about the Marmot Tungsten 1P tent tonight. I've some pictures of the thing drying out yesterday after I dashed home to meet a social engagement.
It's amazing gear.
It's a one-man tent that sleeps much larger than that. The vestibule holds a generous allowance of boots, backpack, and utility gear.
It weighs something in the low 3 lbs. with tie-outs, stakes (MSR groundhogs), and the footprint (included in the price).
Above, the front. The tent opens on the right and the vestibule is the part extending as a beak..
Side view. The tent door flap is on the far left of the picture as is the vestibule.
The back. I've staked out the back for full summer ventilation here.
I put the beast up in the Wisconsin Driftless less than a half-hour before a serious blow. The roar was enough that I suspected a tornado coming over the hill.
The tent didn't flinch. This is a tough piece of well-designed gear.
Stormed on me camping beside the South Branch of the Au Sable Saturday night. No worries. I went to sleep with the sounds of decaying thunder and the certain specific dialect of raindrops off pine trees on the fly of my tent.
The tent goes up in three minutes. It holds you, your gear, a journal for your notes, and a decent book from those of someone else.
It holds all those things dry.
The ventilation is excellent.
Trout camping has opened up water three and four hours north of here on a "no hassle" basis. I like fishing through the evening until true dark and returning to a campsite and a fire I've staged for just a match.
I'll sleep on the ground; but, I use a pad by Klymit ( here ) which turns a campsite into a lush bed. This "dash up, camp a night, and dash back" is an incredible indulgence.
It helps that I love a good camp breakfast.
One day I'll be confined to the likes of a light trailer for base comfort. For now, I've got it pretty much like Ernie had it though with added benefits from modern materials.
Try some trout camping. The Tungsten line of tents by Marmot are "trout fishing" tough. (I've the 3P model, too).
Sunday, June 4, 2017
At left, a fine example of my recent fish photography. A lovely brookie was in this paw an instant before the shutter snapped. He's out of frame in this yet not quite in the water.
I can't tell if this fellow has nice color or not. Lost on me.
My Hardy Marquis is spooled with the #5 but that reel does not like grit at all. I fished it in the Wisconsin trip and it saw a little of the milkshake water. All cleaned-up now but I think it is about to be shelved for a Red Truck.
Chris' rod is a joy to cast and will roll cast the snot out of the Wulff lines. Perfect for the tight confines seasoning the Deward tract on the Manistee.
Above is "the hole" I worked on Saturday afternoon. It was a development exercise I set for myself.
I figured three catchable fish lived here in the bend (probably more like fifteen). I was determined to fish for them with dry, soft hackle wet, dry-dropper, weighted flymph under a wool tuft (indicator), and streamer.
You can see the cover, the current, and the dark turn of a hole which is a good six foot deep over there. The water in the foreground was about fourteen inches deep on my shin. I sat, thought, planned, and observed.
I slowed down and contrived to catch three fish.
Pictured is an old old ginger-caddis leftover from before I started tying cdc-DHC exclusively. Not a bad tie, though.
Maybe a little head heavy. Size 16 here.
My hook left less sting than this smashed fellow. He was not a practitioner of the barbless philosophy.
And "no joy." I fished from a low angle slightly off and upstream so as to use the current to help me with the submerged obstructions.
I stayed low so as not to soil the hole. I got into position and sat for 20 minutes waiting for my bank-side footsteps to fade from memory.
No joy. Odd.
Otter? Osprey? Brown trout in the hole?
I failed the exam. There is something here I did not know or did not execute correctly.
I took nine fish off this stream. Five I took wading downstream returning to my put-in. I "jigged" my soft-hackle in the drift downstream 50' in front of me (full line head + leader) loosing one and hooking five.
My upstream soft-hackle efforts full of concentration and stealth yielded worse results than "playing" a brown partridge-and-orange downstream in the main current drift. No hatch. No spinner fall. Partly cloudy day with a 10 - 12 mph irregularly gusting wind. I had waded up the stream long enough before to consider it fully rested.
Was I "chumming" the stream with my steps? I didn't think so but the results might say otherwise.
My delicate and dedicated fishing of "the hole" pulled nothing. The fish I did catch from upstream presentations came from places unremarkable (not a visible seam off a sweeper or on/around a obstruction).
I fished "water" and not fish. I used the "9 box" method of dividing the stream into three ranks (rows) and three files (columns) upstream but within my reach. I fished closest to me across the rank, then the next rank upstream. Then the next. Three or four steps and I repeated.
I have this nasty nagging feeling I'm too high in the water column for fish feeding close to the bottom while lying in the micro draws and troughs of the streambed.
I suspect. I suspect. I postulate. I guess.
I think I am fishing shallow. I will amend the effort next weekend on that trout dash upstate.
Beauty Shot of gear:
It's lovely gear. It needs a little Lexol in this snap.
Spike Burger and waffle fries. Fished shallow or deep, these hook me every time. Forbidden food.
"Not for Bears."
The evening fire as I read and smoked the last of some Briar Fox from Cornell and Diehl. Sad to say, it hasn't become a favorite blend.
Next up is Sextant by G. L. Pease. Yes, it is slightly cased by rum -- as if that matters a damn bit.
I've nothing bad to say about a little rum casing in the tobacco from time to time.
Rum is a fine substitute for Irish Whiskey or a decent scotch in a glass when you're pressed to it.
One must remain flexible, after all.
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
It rained four-and-a-half inches the week I was fishing. It showed. Conditions for me were hard.
My fish were all cookie-cutter 8" to 12" aggressive little beasts which tells me I was a split shot or two away from some of the nicer fish I saw landed.
I had fun. I'll go again in a heartbeat.
We had morning warming fires, too.
My tent on the left. Dirk's in the background center.
Both tents lived through a sixty mile-an-hour squall a half-hour after being put up. Dirk's snapped a fiberglass pole that was easily repaired. I have to say the Cabela's outfitter's model he had was a lot tougher than I thought. Dry, too. Nothing duct tape and a splint couldn't fix.
Above, the campground at the West Fork Sportsmans' Club.
Bohemian Valley here. I've a hundred pictures just like this of seventeen other streams. Heartbreakers, really.
I learned just watching him fish. I learned watching him not fish, too.
Another perspective. We fished the rain (fourteen hours of it) on Saturday. I came back and fished another six hours on Sunday and pulled eight fish from here.
One of my choices in the mud. The next cast pulled a fish out on it.
After facing mud, I was willing to try and fish my most difficult environment: the long slow pool.
I worked on technique, rested the pool, worked again. I had success.
We did a lot of scouting. Regrettably, this is the only shot I have of Dr. Don that wasn't of his back. I have several of his back bending down to unhook a fish.
He's leading a scouting party here.
Obligatory cow shot. Coulee is at the left just out of frame.
I fished the Driftless in perhaps its worst state short of flood. I still caught fish. I had fun.
I lived five days in a one-man tent and saw it shrug off a tremendous spring blow.
I wore wool and Capilene every day. Half our party bailed halfway through the outing due to weather.
I'd go back tomorrow.
Sunday, May 14, 2017
I've got some new fishing companions. This week I'm going over to Viroqua and the Driftless area as you've read here.
Cows feature in that landscape. Sometimes, they feature in the water.
I'm behind on many things but I'm making an adventure trip -- though the adventure is only in going someplace I've not already been.
Next year's big trip: the Upper Columbia.
There are only so many days. Those you spend fishing aren't counted against the total.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Rebels. Heh, heh.
I've got a big outing to the Wisconsin Driftless coming here shortly and I'm beginning to gather my stuff.
It is a camping outing so the camp gear is ready, warmed-up, and can be loaded from the "ready pile" in the corner of my library into the new trout car in fifteen minutes. More problematic is the food prep and staging ... and the always treacherous "state of the flybox."
Is anyone ever exactly ready for an excursion?
John Gierach writes about this topic _Trout Bum_ or _Fly Fishing Small Streams_ or _All Fisherman Are Liars_ or ...
What the hell, just read 'em all. He's covered enough for most a decade of long winters.
I'm pretty sure I'm recalling a passage from _Small Streams_ where he discusses at length the evolution of his fly box and the travel set-up he embraced at least in this mid-to-early career phase of his writing when he did a great deal of road time to various spots with various fly-fishing luminaries. All the fishing partners who made it into his writing are renown for catching trout out of a mud-puddle.
I like a limited fly box like a lot of anglers but I'm also afflicted with a taste for the shiny, the new, the exotic.
I have about as much control over my fly box discipline as I do over my impulse to buy fly rods. I lived for fifteen years with a very serviceable (though slightly heavy) fiberglass 6wt in an unusual 8'8" configuration. My dry flies during this time were often large and bushy (summer fishing, and usually late summer fishing). My wets were heavy leaden beasts to dredge the bottom of fast waters ticking over boulders (I remember thinking once that there had to be rivers somewhere that had stones on the bottom smaller than basketballs). My streamers were all-purpose black or olive beasts in #4 or #6.
It was however years before I knew one could "strip" streamers instead of just hovering them on the drift. That tells you there was a grave deficiency in steelhead exposure in my early angling experiences.
I used "the rod" on every sort of fishing I encountered. I did use it to cast #18's on the White River and it would work. I've put 3/8 oz. jigs on 20' of 2x tippet and caught walleye for dinner in holes of a river the outfitter said held big trout. I put the "big trout" story down in the books as credited to cheap Canadian moonshine spiked with vanilla extract to try and mask the essence of kerosene.
You think guides are broke, try talking to an outfitter.
I eventually killed the rod -- with a little help -- when the tip completely de-laminated about the third time it had been shut in a pick-up door. No, I don't leave my rods anywhere near a hinged automotive appliance but sometimes you might say something across the camp like "bring my rod from that birch over there" as you drown the coals and your buddy is obliged to remember something out of the truck after picking up your rod and ...
He did loan me his new Scott rod all rigged up as a consolation for ruining my "only" rod -- an act simultaneously conveyed with the scolding that I out to know better than to bring only one rod and the pained expression of giving the keys to your new Ferrari to your son on prom night.
I resisted the urge to slam the Scott wand in the tailgate. My 6 wt. rod had undue sentimental valuation.
Fly fishing opportunities dried up significantly after that trip anyway as I too became "poorer than an outfitter with an aviation fuel bill due." For the record, I can't afford another ex-wife.
Somewhere in here is a confession that while I have tied all winter long to fill my soft-hackle and flymph collection, I've waited until now to seriously address small nymphs and scud. I have to tie a couple nights this week and increase my load of "hackled scud" in chartreuse and the olive-threaded variant of a no-hackle "pink squirrel."
I've got enough hare's mask and possum to do the job.
I could use some more partridge-and-yellow in #15 just to be comfortable.
Couldn't we all?
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
The South Branch of the Au Sable is back to its tricks of setting forty-nine year high-flow records.
I'm to get nearly three inches of rain in the next forty-eight hours here on Mill Creek.
The Huron is deep in the trees. The new rain will make it crawl its banks.
I'm ready to throw streamers but high water, high wind, and low temperatures seem a lot closer to fall steelhead than spring Hendrickson trout.
Looks like I'm working as an ink slave this weekend instead of perfecting my dry fly delivery.
It might be time to look at the Douglas SKY 6wt, though. That'd be a good excuse to throw streamers all weekend.